Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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When he saw her face, he gasped, “Mitsu?”

The young woman paused. She looked him over carefully, smiling a little, while Hitomaro hid his shaking hands and stammered, “Forgive me. I thought for a moment.. .” He faltered, as his eyes traced her features and his heart nearly burst with mingled grief and joy.

She laughed softly, hiding her mouth with her sleeve, and he was lost. Just so had his young wife laughed up at him. Mitsu, who had hanged herself after their neighbor had raped her. The face of her beautiful look-alike receded into a fog of black despair.

“I hope she is pretty,” the young woman murmured with a sidelong glance. “She is a lucky person to have so handsome an admirer.”

With an effort Hitomaro came back to the present. He realized that this woman was flirting with him in public, and since she was very beautiful and had come from a house of assignation, he decided she must be one of the famous hinin courtesans. Perhaps she had entertained a customer and passed the auntie her fee before going home. The old woman still stood in the door, watching them, her head cocked and her pointed nose twitching.

He turned his eyes back to the enchanting girl. “Yes, she was beautiful,” he said, his voice shaking a little, “as beautiful as you. Could I... would you allow me to...” He flushed at his awkwardness and pulled a string of coppers from his sleeve. Seeing her eyebrows rise, he delved into his sleeve again and came up with a silver bar. “Is this enough?” he asked, extending it to her.

She looked at the silver and started to laugh. “Naughty man,” she murmured. “If you wish an introduction, you must ask permission of my aunt, Mrs. Omeya.” She nodded toward the older woman, bowed, and walked away quickly.

Ah, so that’s the way to do the business, Hitomaro thought and turned to the auntie. “How much and when should I return?”

Old Sharpnose stared after the young woman. Her mouth twitched. Then she snatched the silver out of Hitomaro’s hand. “This will do, and come back tomorrow, same time.” She slipped back into the house and slammed the door in his face.

“Wait! What’s her name?” Too late; the old one was gone and so was the only woman who had set his blood racing in years. He stood for another moment, a bemused smile on his face, and then walked off toward the wineshop at the end of the road. Suddenly he felt like drinking.

The wineshop was no more than a single room. Two walls on either side were lined with low wooden seating platforms, the third with large wine barrels, a rack of shelves holding earthenware cups, and another curtained doorway. It was empty, but an oil lamp flickered on a sake barrel, and the straw mats on the platforms were reasonably clean. Hitomaro sat down and shouted, “Oy!”

A young woman appeared through the doorway. She was small and pert and had unusually curly hair and snapping black eyes which lingered on Hitomaro after the first glance, but Hitomaro’s mind was on a pale goddess he hoped to hold in his arms the next day. It had been too long. To think that such a perfect creature was a prostitute—an outcast who sold her body to any man with money.

Absentmindedly he ordered the wine, then remembered that his report was due tonight and that he might not be able to return tomorrow.

The waitress brought a flask and cup just as he hit his head with the palm of his hand and cried, “I’m a fool!”

She giggled. “Not at all, sir. The wine is excellent here.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s just that I forgot something I have to do.” Taking notice of her for the first time, he blurted out, “I like your hair. I’ve never seen hair curl like that. What do you do to it?”

Her smile froze. “Nothing. I was born with it. And I don’t like it when people make fun of me.”

He was bewildered. “No, I really like it. It’s very attractive. But I guess they used to tease you in school.”

“School? Hardly. I’m an outcast. An untouchable.”

Hitomaro greeted that with pleased surprise. “Oh? Are you really? Well, that explains it. I was told all outcast women are beautiful. I see it’s true.”

There was a pause, then she asked, “You’re not from here?” When he shook his head, she said bitterly, “Most people think of us as animals. They only treat our women decently when they want their bodies. Untouchable! Pah! They can’t get enough of touching us in bed.” Her voice shook with anger.

Hitomaro was sorry and said so.

She tossed her head. “Don’t be! We make them pay.”

Remembering the silver bar, he said awkwardly, “Let me buy you dinner tonight.” Seeing her flush, he added quickly, “No strings attached. I’d like to make up for mentioning your hair.”

She chuckled at that. “I was wrong about you. I tell you what. You can be my guest. I’m Yasuko. We have a beautiful salmon at home, and if you don’t mind eating with outcasts, I can promise you a fine meal.”

Hitomaro accepted eagerly. Before he left the wineshop, he got directions to her village. The intervening hours he passed talking to market vendors about the three convicts.

♦

Shortly after sunset he was walking rapidly along the country road in the gathering dusk. He carried a gift of rice cakes stuffed with sweet bean paste, and felt a general sense of satisfaction with his day. His master would be especially pleased to hear that he had already made friends with two of the hinin.

Because Hitomaro was preoccupied with the genealogy that had produced two such extraordinary women as his curly-haired hostess and the pale goddess he had met earlier, he was unprepared for an ambush.

At a bend in the narrow road, near a stand of pines surrounding a small shrine to the fox spirit, a band of rough men, their faces covered with black cloth below their eyes, fell upon him with cudgels and staffs. Dropping his packages, he went into a defensive stance, ducking and fending off the blows, but he was unarmed and badly outnumbered. He took them for a band of robbers at first, but since he was wearing old clothes, they could hardly have expected to enrich themselves.

When he realized who they were, he fought back with renewed fury though he was at a disadvantage against so many cudgels, wielded with such expertise. At first they struck at his arms and legs and his lower back. He landed a few kicks to a groin or two and put his fist into a few faces, but then a well-placed hit to the side of his head sent him reeling. Flashes of red-hot pain exploded behind his eyes and his knees buckled. He collapsed in the roadway.

When he came to he was still lying down. Every part of his body hurt, but mostly his head. He tried to push the pain aside to concentrate on where he was. Odd sounds of rummaging and murmuring meant he was among people, and he opened his eyes a slit. He seemed to be lying on a dirt floor, looking up at an opening in a strange conical roof. Firelight flickered across beams and rafters that were tied together with vines. Nets, woven from sedge and holding various household goods, hung suspended from them. The flickering light and a certain warmth on one side of his body told him that he lay next to a fire. Its smoke spiraled up toward a patch of starry sky.

He turned his head painfully and verified that the fire was contained in a sunken pit. Beyond he saw dim shapes—people– seated or standing in the outer gloom that the firelight did not reach. He grunted experimentally, and one of the shapes approached and became Yasuko, the waitress from the wineshop.

“Oh, it’s you,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember getting here.” He grimaced and felt his scalp gingerly, wincing again at the sharp pain in his shoulder and arm. He noticed blood on his hand and sleeve, and his hand looked bruised and swollen. Memory returned suddenly, and he jerked upright with a string of bloodcurdling curses.

“Lie down!” instructed a deep, commanding voice. Hitomaro obeyed because pain and a sudden dizziness made the room spin crazily. When his head cleared, he looked up at an old man with a silken mane of white hair and a long beard. The old man was bending over him to apply a cool and fragrant compress to his head. Hitomaro sighed with relief and closed his eyes again.

Then Yasuko began to wash the blood from his hands and face and he looked at her. She smiled. “You are in good hands,” she said. “The master himself was visiting our village when Kaoru brought you home.”

She was very gentle with him. Hitomaro murmured, “Oh. Much obliged. I was waylaid near a fox shrine.” When she was done, he raised himself again, more carefully, and looked around. “I had some rice dumplings I meant to give you, but I must’ve dropped them when those bastards jumped me. At first, I thought it was a hell of a thing to do to a fellow for a few dumplings ... Who’s Kaoru?”

“I am.” Slim and muscular, the young man wore the traditional garb of a woodsman. Like Hitomaro, he had a short beard and mustache but his hair was long and loose. He came closer and looked down at Hitomaro. “I doubt it was the dumplings,” he said. “Those men were set on giving you a beating, maybe even killing you. It was hard to get their attention.” He smiled, his teeth very white against the brown skin.

Hitomaro smiled back, painfully since his lip was split and swollen. “No, it wasn’t the dumplings. You’re the one who brought me here?” he asked. “Thanks, friend. I won’t forget the favor. How did you manage it by yourself?”

“Oh, I was not alone.” Kaoru smiled again, and, reaching for a large, beautifully made bow, said, “Meet my assistant, Dragon Flash.” He whistled softly, “And my best friend, White Bear.” A large, shaggy white dog appeared. The dog leaned against the woodsman’s leg and looked down at Hitomaro. Yawning largely, he revealed a set of ferocious teeth, then let his tongue loll out to give Hitomaro a friendly greeting.

“You managed to incapacitate two of them. I wounded four,” the woodsman said. “White Bear savaged the legs and buttocks of four more, and the rest decided to run for it, carrying off their wounded. There were twelve altogether, I think.”

“You have made a bad enemy,” remarked the old man to Hitomaro, as he came to change the compress on his head. “Perhaps you would rather not tell us your name under the circumstances. You are among friends here. We know all about keeping secrets and we often give refuge to those in trouble with the authorities.”

“The authorities?” Hitomaro looked shocked. “Good heavens! Those bastards were scum. They were the hired thugs of a fellow called Sunada. We had a small disagreement earlier in the day after one of them roughed up a friend of a friend.”

The old man sighed. “Sunada’s men? In this place, authority is not always in official hands, so watch yourself, my son.” Turning to Yasuko, he said, “He will stay here overnight. A very light supper, and a solid breakfast, and he should do well enough. Now I must check on my other patient.”

“No!” Hitomaro began to scramble up again, but the white-beard placed a surprisingly strong hand against his chest and forced him back. “You don’t understand,” Hitomaro pleaded. “I have to return to the city tonight. I’m meeting a friend.”

“Why?” Just that word, but the inflection expressed surprise rather than curiosity, as if in the larger scheme of things nothing mattered but Hitomaro’s health.

“Well...” Hitomaro hedged, then said, “Never mind.”

The old man nodded. “You will stay.” His tone left no room for argument.

Yasuko accompanied the healer to the door and bade him farewell with many deep bows. When she returned, Hitomaro said, “You have strange doctors here. He was a yamabushi, wasn’t he?”

She smiled. “Not just anyyamabushi. The master himself. He lives in the mountains in a cave and only visits to tend the sick and dying. He’s a great man, a saint.”

“I admit that compress of his is very soothing. Who’s his other patient?”

“Oh, that one!” She sniffed. “An army deserter came here to hide. He showed his gratitude by raping one of our girls. There was a fight after that. We should’ve known from his broken teeth that he was bully. I think someone broke his arm.”

“Why do you hide criminals?”

“They aren’t always criminals. Some just don’t get along with the authorities. The master insists we take in anyone who’s in trouble. He says in a world without justice, every man deserves a second chance. It’s a rule that can’t be broken. Most of those who came to us have been grateful. I’ll get your dinner now.”

After she left, an old crone sidled up and sat down next to Hitomaro. She stared fixedly at his bandaged head and muttered under her breath.

Her glittering eyes made him nervous. “What’s that, Grandmother?” he asked.

Suddenly she bent over him so closely that he flinched away from her foul breath. “Are you afraid, my handsome lord?” She cackled crazily, rocking back and forth. “Blood. Red blood and white snow. Ah, the pretty flower and the pretty bud.” She leaned over him again. A thin thread of saliva drooled from her toothless gums. She hissed, “The dead will have their due, my lord. Where will you hide then? In your grave?” She doubled over with a wild shriek of laughter.

“Quiet, Grandmother!” Kaoru reached down and helped her up. “Time for your supper and bed.”

The crone clung to him, whimpering now. “Make him go away. Make him go away.” Kaoru made soothing noises and took her to the far corner of the house, where he bedded her down and gently wrapped a blanket around her. Yasuko took her a bowl of food, and Kaoru returned to Hitomaro.

“Grandmother is a shamaness,” he said. “Such women suffer great mental strain in their work. She’s been having spells of confusion for the past year, and today has been an especially bad day for her. I hope you will forgive her.”

“Of course, but what the devil was she talking about? What blood? Which dead?”

“She doesn’t know what she is saying. She’s old and weak and gets confused.”

Hitomaro said nothing. He had begun to wonder why this outcast woodcutter spoke like an educated man.

Yasuko brought a bamboo tray with fragrant pink chunks of fish nestled in green cabbage leaves. “She’s calm now,” she told Kaoru. “The fit started when she heard someone talk about the old lord’s death. I put your food next to her bed, Kaoru. Please sit with her for a little.” Turning to Hitomaro, she said, “I promised you salmon, and here it is.” She knelt beside him and selected a tempting piece with the chopsticks. Proffering it, she added, “You mustn’t be greedy though! The master said you are to eat lightly, and I mean to make sure you behave.”

She looked so charming with her face rosy in the firelight, that a man might well forget his manners. Hitomaro enjoyed the experience of being fed, and not only because the fish was delicious and he was hungry. He swallowed and thanked her, then asked, “Why would your grandmother be upset by old Uesugi’s death?”

“Otakushi is Kaoru’s grandmother. She used to visit Takata manor just as her mother did before her. They both had the gift of foretelling the future. It’s dangerous work. Otakushi’s mother once almost lost her life. She foretold that one of the lord’s sons would kill his brother.”

Kaoru appeared beside her, eyes blazing with anger. “Yasuko. Come.”

She looked up, startled. Gathering the tray with shaking hands, she told Hitomaro, “You must rest now,” and scurried away.

* * * *

SEVEN

FLUTE PLAY

I

n the gray predawn hour of the following morning, Akitada sat hunched over his desk, reading documents from the provincial archives. From time to time his eyes moved to a twist of paper and a scrap with some childish scrawls on it, and he muttered to himself.

Hamaya put his head in the door. “Did you wish for anything, your Excellency?”

“No, no! Just. . . you might glance outside and see if either of my lieutenants is about.”

Hamaya disappeared. Akitada shivered, took a sip from his teacup and made a face. The tea was cold already, and no wonder in this chilly place. If he could only shake this trouble in his belly, he might have more energy, ideas, solutions. The gods knew he needed them. Neither Tora nor Hitomaro had seen fit to make their reports last night as instructed. He had waited for hours. When he had finally gone to the room he shared with his wife, she had been fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, he had ended up spending the night in his office, hardly closing an eye, chilled to the bone by the icy drafts coming from the doors and through the walls.

Then, this morning, on his desk, he had found the mysterious twist of paper on top of one of Tora’s illegible notes. The paper contained some mud-colored bits smelling vaguely of dried grass and resembling rabbit dung.

The door opened. Hamaya said, “Lieutenant Tora is just...”

“Sorry, sir,” Tora mumbled, slinking past the clerk and dropping onto the mat across from Akitada. He looked uncharacteristically glum and sounded apologetic. “You were asleep when I got back, so I waited in the stable. I guess I dozed off. That fool of a constable had orders to tell me the minute you were up.”

Akitada said nothing but looked disapprovingly at the pieces of straw clinging to his lieutenant’s hair and clothes. Tora fidgeted, discovered the straw, and muttered another apology, adding, “I hope Dr. Oyoshi’s medicine worked, sir.” His eyes were on the twist of paper.

“Dr. Oyoshi?” Akitada’s heavy brows rose. “This illegible scrawl is about some medicine sent by him?” he asked sarcastically. “From what I could make out, I thought your nephew’s business was ailing, and he decided to write poems in praise of constipation.”

“Oh.” Tora’s face reddened. He reached for the note. “I guess I got some of the characters mixed up. The fact is, I had a shocking night.”

Akitada’s stomach hurt, and Tora’s problems were not his. He snapped, “Well, well? What did the doctor say about the medicine?”

“Oh. Can you imagine, he recognized me right away and knew all about your loose bowels? He must have the eyes of a cloud dragon!”

“Medicine!” Akitada bellowed. “What am I to do with these pellets?”

Tora looked hurt. “You take one in some hot wine three times a day.”

“Hamaya!”

The clerk put his head in the door. “Excellency?”

“Some hot wine. Quick!”

“Well, as I was saying ...” Tora tried to continue his report.

“Wait!” Akitada scowled ferociously, and Tora sank into glum silence.

After the wine arrived and he had taken his first dose, Akitada sighed and remarked more peaceably, “It was good of you to stop by the doctor’s place and ask for these. I am sorry I snapped at you. What shock did you have?”

Tora did not meet his eyes. “Uh ... I didn’t exactly... that is, the doctor recognized me at the Golden Carp and asked about your, uh ... and gave me the pills. I offered to pay him, but he said not to unless they work. The fact is, he was calling on a patient at the inn. Mrs. Sato wanted to get rid of a sick guest, but the doctor forbade it. She was very angry. She said sick guests are bad for her business, and this one also had no money. When the doctor left, I ran after him to pay for the poor fellow’s medicine. That’s when ...”

Akitada held up a hand. “Wait! If you were at the Golden Carp, you may as well start your report at the beginning. What did you find out in the market?”

Tora shifted miserably. “A little. There was one fellow who thought he’d changed money for Takagi or someone like him, but he wasn’t sure about the day. Two men remembered Okano’s act in the wineshop.” He sighed deeply. “There’s not much point in checking out those guys. I know they didn’t do it.”

“And how do you know that?” Akitada asked, astonished.

Tora swallowed. “I ... the maid and I, uh, last night. I thought it was a good way to get some information. Amida, I shouldn’t have touched her. She did it, sir! She killed the old man. I bet the bitch slits men’s throats regularly. Start digging behind her kitchen and no telling what you’ll find. She gets ‘em in her bed and then ...”

“Tora!”

Tora stopped and looked at him blearily.

“Did she admit to the murder?”

“Not in so many words. But I knew. I put the clues together, just like you do, and they added up.” Tora raised a finger and counted off, “One, she hates her mistress, but not because she works her too hard or pays her too little. Oh, no! She hates her because old Sato married a pretty young thing and doted on her. Two, Kiyo—that’s the maid’s name—used to take care of Sato. If you know what I mean.” Tora glowered.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes,” Tora said bitterly. “She’s one of those females who can’t get enough of it. I guess even an old geezer would do for her.”

“Hmm. Why are you so upset?”

Tora looked at Akitada. “It’s disgusting—like I slept with a leper.”

“You think she killed her employer? Why?”

“She hated him. You should’ve heard her. She went on taking ‘care’ of him after his marriage because the wife wasn’t interested, but it was the wife he gave the money to, the wife he talked about in bed as if she were some kind of goddess. Well, one day, while the wife was visiting her parents, she got fed up and took her revenge and his gold. I bet Kiyo figured the money was hers—for services rendered. She must’ve done it that afternoon, while the three guests were at the market. Nobody saw or heard old Sato after midday. And remember, she used her own kitchen knife. Takagi saw it in the kitchen in the morning, but in the evening, when they were back from the market, it was gone, and she was slicing radish with a little knife. So you see? She had the motive and the opportunity.”

Akitada nodded. “Those are very good points.”

Somewhat consoled, Tora concluded, “There’s one more point, and it clinches the matter. After those three fools went to sleep, she slipped back into the kitchen and put the bloody knife in Takagi’s bundle. Who else could’ve done that?”

“Hmm.” Akitada thought, pulling his earlobe and pursing his lips. “It seems to me you supposed a lot of things. What did she actually say?”

“What I just told you. How she took care of him all those years, and the wife didn’t, and how the wife got everything she wanted and was ungrateful.”

“But that is hardly a murder confession, is it?”

Tora looked confused. “But... you should have been there, sir. It would have turned your stomach, she was so full of hate. It had to be her.” He shuddered. “I slept with a murderess.”

“Well, let it be a lesson to you not to sleep with every girl you run into. You have made an interesting case against that maid, but for the moment we do not have enough evidence to arrest her. Where is Hitomaro?”

“He hasn’t come in? That’s not like Hito. I’ll go look for him.”

“No.” Akitada pushed the documents aside irritably. “We don’t have the time. While you and Hitomaro were out, I have been checking the records. We have a bigger problem than that murder. For three generations now, the Uesugi have ruled this province as their personal domain. During that time they resisted every effort by the government to bring Echigo in line with the Taiho and Yoro law codes. No wonder Judge Hisamatsu runs his court to please the lords of Takata and himself. No wonder the three travelers are being made scapegoats. I expect miscarriage of justice has been the order of the day. And no wonder everybody wishes to be rid of me.”

“Let them try!” Tora said belligerently.

Akitada gave him a long look. “Think, Tora. We have no real power. We don’t even have the support of the military guard, and there is no police force. On five separate occasions the imperial government has dispatched trained police officers from the capital with instructions to set up a local force. The Uesugi sent them all back, claiming that a high constable and a judge were all that is needed. In consequence, the local people take their orders from Takata and ignore us.”

“Why didn’t the other governors object?”

“Apparently they were bribed or threatened into acquiescence.”

Tora’s mind returned to another matter. He frowned. “Something must’ve happened to Hitomaro.”

“Hitomaro can handle himself.” Akitada reached for a document roll and called, “Hamaya.”

When the clerk came in, Akitada handed him the documents. “Here, take a look at these. They have been tampered with. Names have been erased and a whole section has been removed. The affair concerns the late lord’s older brother. I want to know what happened.”

The clerk received the roll with a bow, studied the pertinent sections carefully, and nodded. “Yes, your Excellency is quite right. It was before my time, of course, but I think there was a scandal of sorts. The son in question was repudiated by his father. Changing the documents is quite legal. It is a father’s right to have the son’s name expunged from official family records for serious crimes against family.”

Akitada glowered. “Not on documents in my administration. What happened?”

“I know very little, sir. The family has a history of tragedy. Very brutal times back then. I believe there was a double murder in the women’s quarters. One of the concubines and her child were slain. I don’t know whether that has anything to do with the son.”

“Hmm. See what you can find out.”

The clerk bowed and left.

Akitada pulled his earlobe again. “If they have covered up a crime, we may be able to establish some authority. I think I shall request another police chief from the capital and set up a regular force by next spring.”

“That’ll be a relief,” Tora grunted. “Those lazy, ignorant dogs of constables and that bastard Chobei are hardly my idea of efficient law enforcement.”

“You can stop worrying about Chobei,” said a voice from the doorway. Hitomaro, his face swollen and bruised, walked in with a smile. “I’ve found us a replacement.”

“Amida, what happened to you?” Tora gasped.

Hitomaro lowered himself cautiously to the floor. “Sunada’s thugs set a trap for me. I just got back. And I missed Genba last night.”

Akitada sat up. “Sunada? The merchant? I met the man at Takata.”

Hitomaro told him about the argument outside the restaurant.

Akitada listened glumly. “More bad news,” he commented. “I was hoping to use him to win the local merchants over, but the situation you describe does not promise well. I won’t countenance gangster tactics.”

“The three of us can easily settle that account and teach the merchant a lesson at the same time,” Tora said.

“Not yet. An open confrontation will drive Sunada into the Uesugi camp, and so far, if I don’t miss my guess, Uesugi is reluctant to deal with him. Are you well enough to work, Hitomaro?”

“Fit for anything, sir. The soreness will wear off. And you?”

“Much better, I think. That pill seems to be working. A good thing. Tomorrow I have to attend the old lord’s funeral. And, since the town will be full of people, I plan to hear the case of the innkeeper’s murder the day after.”

Hitomaro said, “We’d better post notices right away. And Tora can drill the constables in their duties. I suppose we’ll have to use Chobei a while longer, sir?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Who is this replacement?”

“One of the outcasts, sir. His name is Kaoru. He’s been working as a woodsman or woodcutter, but he saved my life when those thugs jumped me. There were twelve of them .. .”

“Twelve, against one unarmed man?” Tora cried. “The filthy cowards!”

“Yes. They had cudgels and I passed out pretty quickly. I doubt I’d be here, if Kaoru hadn’t stepped in with some first-rate archery and his dog.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” said Akitada, suppressing some qualms. “But first, let’s hear what you found out. What about the three prisoners?”

“I found a couple of witnesses who will swear that Umehara and Okano did precisely what they said they did, but nobody except for a soup vendor remembers the half-wit.”

“That is good enough. Arrange to have them testify. What did Genba have to say?”

“The local people don’t trust the Uesugi, but they submit as long as they can carry on with their business or farms. There’s a lot of concern about Uesugi drafting young men to serve in the border wars, and some think money is being extorted from families to exempt their sons. That seems to be all.”

“It may be useful. I’ll have Hamaya look into it. Did you learn anything from the outcasts?”

Hitomaro smiled. “Yes, sir. After talking to Genba, I managed to get myself invited to the outcast village. They had a yamabushi there who tended to my wounds and scrapes. I spent the night.”

Akitada clapped his hands. “Well done! I was told they normally keep to themselves.”

“Their women are known for their beauty and sexual skills, so I went to the amusement quarter first.” Hitomaro blushed. “The waitress in a wineshop there was hinin and invited me home for dinner.”

Tora burst out laughing. “Only you would go to the amusement quarter and end up with a free dinner, Hito.”

Hitomaro frowned at him. “It was the easiest way to get to know those people,” he said defensively. “And I did stop at a house of assignation first. It catered to private customers.”

“Please get to the point!” Akitada had a sinking feeling that he was about to be treated to another tale of debauch. “What about the outcasts? Whom do they obey?”

Hitomaro looked relieved. “No one. They are very poor, sir. They grow a few vegetables in their gardens and work the usual dirty jobs in town for a few coppers. But some of the women sell their bodies and bring good earnings home to their families. I got the feeling they are close-knit. The only ones they take instruction from are theyamabushi. I was patched up by the master yamabushi himself.”

Akitada sat up. “Really? The master? An old man with a very long white beard and long hair?”

“You’ve met him, sir? Very impressive. Amazing how educated those mountain priests are. He spoke as well as anyone I ever met, sir. And so does Kaoru, now I think of it.”

Akitada raised his brows. “A well-spoken woodcutter? You surprise me. And the yamabushi speaks, does he? What did he have to say?”

“He thought I was a fugitive looking for sanctuary. It seems he has told the outcasts to take in anyone who’s in trouble with the law. That could account for Uesugi’s hatred of them. They had some toothless deserter hiding there who assaulted one of their women and got his arm broken for it. They don’t want him, but the yamabushi protects him.”